Phantom Shadows on the Floor [Open]

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] An off-center smile. "Glad to hear it, because the next one's going to hurt like a bitch." He laid a gentle hand on Raiden's upper chest, just below the spot where his collar bones pressed up beneath the skin in a winglike sweep that practically begged to be touched, licked and...Christ, knock it off. Concentrate on what's at hand and stop imagining things. At any rate, he put his hand there to give Raiden something to arch up against if he needed to and then poured a thin stream of oil directly into the ugly wound across the fae man's torso, wincing at the depth of the wound and knowing that no matter how gentle he was this was just not going to feel good. "Keep breathing," he murmured. "Almost done." Eventually he'd poured all the oil into the wound and used a fingertip to smear it in a thin layer around the edges of the cut, making sure that everywhere that had been singed by the iron was coated with oil. "Should these bee stitched? Bandaged? Or better just to leave them alone?"

[raidenkile]

Raiden cried out, practically growling at the pain. He covered his face with his arm as if to shield himself from the agony but in truth it was to hide the true extent of pain he felt. It always hurt like a bitch. No matter how many times he went through this he never got used to it. "Fuck." He couldn't help the whimper that rose up in his chest, his hurt pride preferring the growl instead.

"Bandages, please," He rasped out, his voice a little sore from the strain of his cry. Stitches wouldn't work so well, so it was better to just let the wound heal itself up protected by the bandages. Raiden lowered his arm, relief flooding his senses that it was over. He opened his eyes again, hazy from the pain and now the throbbing that overtook him. The throbbing was a good sign that he was healing and everything worked all right but it still wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"Thanks," Raiden finally said again, trying to calm down his over-sensitive nerves. "I..." He let out a dry laugh. "Usually I'm left for dead or worse. I never expected this much help. Thank you." He was more than grateful, he was calm. Raiden hadn't been this relaxed with the feeling of safety in a long while. Most of the time his nerves kept his charged up and energized, always ready for the next thing to come along to try to kill him.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil gave one of those laughs that are more about nerves than humor, a little rougher than usual for no reason that he chose to examine. "Shit, man, what kinda people you been hanging out with? I'm not exactly Mother Teresa here, but basic decency says you help out the guy you fight beside." He was applying butterfly bandages along the length of the wound to pull the edges together, skilled enough with the maneuver that he knew to alternate the direction that the bandages pulled so that the scar wouldn't twist and so on. He'd patched up a fair few people in his time. Almost idly, sort of to distract them both from the discomfort of him messing with the wound he asked, "You in town after anything, or just passing through?" The butterflies were finally all in place, e slid his hand under Raiden's shoulder, both urging and supporting him to sit up so that he could wrap gauze bandaging around to support and protect the adhesive strips. Somewhat meaning to be reassuring he added, "I'm after a vamp who I think's here in town. He and his have been picking off whores, cops haven't noticed yet but they're getting clumsy, it won't be long."

[raidenkile]

Raiden gave him a wry smile, "You know how hard to job can get. It toughens some of the best guys into killers. It doesn't take long for most people to figure out what I am and when that happens...well, it never ends well for me. I tend to work alone." He slipped on his shirt gingerly once the bandages were put on and Wil had helped him up. Raiden sighed in relief, the numbness that had consumed his body moments before was already dissipating. That was a good sign.

He blinked in surprise, tilting his head to the side at Wil's question. "Ah...right now I'm just skipping town. I don't tend to stay in one place for long because of well, because of what I am. I was going to see about finding a hunt at the bar back there but as you can see, that didn't work out." Raiden grimaced before shrugging. "I'll just move on one I've healed up. Though I do owe you a drink, don't I?" Raiden let a sliver of a smile on his face again.

Although Raiden felt a little nervous in Wil's presence-and not the fearful kind of nervous but the attracted kind of nervous- he did enjoy his company and it had been awhile since he had been able to talk to and converse with a hunter who wasn't out to kill him or make his life miserable.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil nodded as he tied off the bandage and went over to the sink to wash his hands and rinse out the bowl where he'd mixed up the oil. "I'm lucky that way, most mortals can't tell. Occasionally I get one who picks up on it, but half that time I think that's just random paranoia and aggressiveness." While he was cleaning up he happened to glance down and notice that there was a big blood-rimmed hole in the side of his shirt. He'd forgotten that he'd gotten stabbed. A grimace, more finicky than really upset, and he shucked the denim jacket he'd been wearing and stripped off the ruined shirt, running the clean part of it under the hot water so that he could mop the crusted-over blood off his skin. There was no sign of an actual wound any more, just the smeared blood darkening his skin. It turned out that Wil had a great many more tattoos that had been hidden by the shirt, most of them religious in origin, one way or another. Once he'd cleaned himself up, including splashing some cold water on his face and scrubbing it dry with a paper towel, Wil turned around and leaned back against the kitchen counter (you could see the inner-pants holster now, and the pocket sewed into his jeans just behind one hip where smart money said he carried a silvered blade of some kind), lighting a cigarette and looking Raiden over from a safer distance. "And fuck yes you owe me a drink. I liked that shirt." He grinned over at the other man, trying to pretend to himself that not reaching for a clean shirt yet was just laziness and not an attempt to figure out whether Raiden had any interest.

[raidenkile]

Raiden couldn't help the amused smirk that appeared in response to Wil's words. He wasn't used to having a favorite anything but he remembered the days when he was younger and having a favorite shirt meant something to him. Survival had taken it's toll out of him. ""Two drinks then, since it was your favorite shirt." It was the very least he could do. It wasn't as if he was saving the cash for anything anyway.

He almost stretched his arms out, relishing in getting feeling back into his limbs but then he noticed something. Raiden couldn't help letting his eyes glance at Wil's toned chest in appreciation but then realized what he was doing and felt his cheeks warm up. Damn his light skin. If it had been tanner than the blush that was coming wouldn't be so noticable. Raiden refrained himself from fidgeting and merely bit his lower lip turning his gaze away shyly. At least he had self-control.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] So no, then. Fair enough, it had been a long shot anyway. Wil wouldn't be surprised if Raiden attracted a fair bit of unwanted male attention, he had that delicate, boyish kind of prettiness that a lot of gay gays went crazy over. He wouldn't push it, Wil wasn't the type to try to coerce sex out of anybody, male or female. Though he would, he thought, see about finding a gay bar or something to figure out whether this was just one of those passing fancies that he could get out of his system. It had, as he'd thought earlier, been a long time and especially if he was going to be hanging with Raiden again he really ought to have things better pulled together than this so that he didn't end up making a fool of himself or making Raiden uncomfortable. He hit his smoke and set it in the ashtray while he headed over to the pressboard dresser and pulled out a black wifebeater, tugged it on over his head. And, somewhat unfortunately, when he pulled the shirt out of the drawer a distinctly feminine lace-trimmed camisole top came out along with it. Fuck, it must have ended up in his drawer after they did laundry earlier in the week, he and Tish usually did a pretty good job of keeping their rooms separate because of just this kind of situation but it only took one slip to make everything awkward. Shoving the undershirt back into the drawer in the utterly vain hope that Raiden might not have noticed it, Wil asked, "You need anything else? Something to eat or drink, something for the pain, whatever?"

[raidenkile]

Raiden held back a sigh. Maybe this was why he wasn't cut out for relationships. He sucked at small-talk and showing his interest. He stretched out his legs quickly, crinkling his nose and then glanced over at Wil in surprise.

"Your daughters, right?" Raiden questioned at the sight of the shirt. "I heard a bit of your conversation at the bar. I didn't mean to eavesdrop." Raiden flushed a bit brighter in embarrassment. "You're a hard one to miss." He glanced away again. It was silly things like that that turned people off. Raiden felt a little self-conscious again, upset with himself that he was damned whether he did or didn't.

"Ah...just a drink but that can wait until I've gotten you yours." Raiden cleared his throat, glad that he would finally get out of his hotel room. He was starting to feel warmth in his stomach again.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] A muscle jumped in Wil's jaw, he'd have preferred that Raiden not know about Tish. At least for the time being. It was just better to be cautious, and what a person didn't know they couldn't accidentally let slip. "Yeah." He didn't expand on the subject, just tugged down the hem of his shirt and went back to the kitchenette to retrieve his cigarette and to pull down a pair of glasses and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Swing. He liked the sweetness of the blended scotch, it reminded him of the early American bourbons. "We'll start with a drink in honor of 'holy fuck we survived tonight' and figure it out from there." Three fingers of dark amber liquid in each glass and Wil held out one toward Raiden. "It's been a hell of a night, all the way around. No need to get too hung up on debt and payment." Wil had lived plenty long enough to believe that what goes around comes around, and he didn't much sweat keeping the balance sheets even.

[raidenkile]

Raiden opened his mouth to protest but then realized it was pointless. It would be rude to ignore and reject Wil's hospitality- even though Raiden felt like he owed him enough already. He hated being in debt. It made him uncomfortable and on edge even more so than usual.

"I...thanks." Raiden finally nodded, taking the drink and holding it in his hands for a moment. He hesitated, bringing the glass up and inspecting it quickly before taking a sip. He had been careless before and poisoned with a drink but this one was clear. He felt a bit guilty that he was still so paranoid that he checked it, even in the company of the man who clearly saved his life, but he couldn't help it. Raiden was the equivalent to a beaten dog, willing for attention and affection but always wary of betrayal and being harmed again.

The drink went down his throat smoothly and with it a sense of relief even though Raiden's body was still tensed as if waiting for the inevitable bad thing to happen. Luck was never on his side so usually when things seemed too good to be true...they were.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil stayed slumped back against the faded formica countertop, watching Raiden with hooded eyes as he lifted his glass and took a healthy swallow. "Not much of a talker, are you?" He hit his smoke and then stubbed it out in the heavy yellow glass ashtray that seems to be mandatory for motel rooms across the country. "You looking for an excuse to get out? We can call you a cab if you want. Or call the front desk and get you a room here so you can get a decent night's sleep." He'd originally intended to let Raiden sleep here, but the other man's obvious discomfort changed his mind. Still there was a flash of bitter humor as he took another mouthful of scotch and said, "I could always promise not to turn around, scream 'banzai' and attack you all wild-eyed and murderous. I would even be willing to cross my heart, hope to die, stick a thousand needles in my eye. That's how serious I am about this vow."

[raidenkile]

Raiden looked over at Wil shocked and feeling his stomach clench up uncomfortably. "I...a-apologize. I'm not used to...hospitality. This kind of h-hospitality. I'm...it's instinct for me to be waried after what I've been through." He felt shame consume him. "I'm m-most comfortable being in the shadows and unnoticed. I don't often have company anymore." He winced at his stuttering, very uncomfortable now. Raiden sighed, mulling over the idea of just leaving the room. It would be rude but it wasn't like he hadn't fucked things up enough.

His heart still pounded in his chest. It didn't help that he was very attracted to Wil. Though his mouth refused to open when he figured it wouldn't hurt to add that. It might make Wil uncomfortable but at least it would probably ease the bitter tension. "I'm alone in a hotel room with an attractive guy. My nerves are shot. Give me a break." Raiden finally grumbled out, his throat rough from the uneasy swallowing and the recent drinks of alcohol. He was ready to flee if Wil was unhappy with his statement, body still tense and ready.

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wow, seriously? Raiden had seemed almost viciously passive ever since the fight, something Wil had attributed at first to him being injured but then once he wasn't in pain any more it had continued. Dude didn't do anything, just responded with the minimum possible answer to whatever Wil said or did, and except for a couple of tiny flashes of some spark of personality Wil would've said the guy didn't have any there there. Pretty but dumb or something. And now he was playing some kinda poor-me angle that Wil was willing to bet was probably justified but which was also more than a little off-putting. After all, he was already raising a kid, taking on another person who needed to be babied and reassured wasn't hugely attractive. Not that it mattered if this was going to be a quick hookup and then a parting of the ways, but for some reason Raiden didn't strike him as one night stand material. Something else, but not necessarily something that was a good idea. He looked Raiden over, licking his lips while he weighed the cute and the chemistry and the fairly hefty things that they had in common against the diffidence and the flinching kicked-puppy thing and trying to figure out whether to chase that statement or let it pass without comment and pretend this never happened. In the end he went with stubbing out his smoke and saying, "How about if I promise not to hit on you tonight? Next time we'll maybe give a try at some leering and groping, but I have this sort of policy about not sexually harassing the wounded, no matter how hot they are."

[raidenkile]

This was why Raiden didn't get close to people. They tended to misinterpret him and choose to pick at the first glance details. He could feel Wil's impression of him. A weak pathetic man. But he was this way to keep from killing people and losing his sanity like his faerie blood was trying to force him to do. "No, thank you. I think this was a bad idea. I can feel what you think of me and I'll pass." Raiden closed right back up again, a little bit of bite to his statement. He didn't like being insulted and this guy seemed a bit too cocky of himself. He pulled out his cash looking for enough money for three drinks. "Here's some cash for the drinks. My debt is repaid with some extra for that third one you got me. Have a good night and thank you."

Raiden gave Wil a mocking bow, the only thing he knew he could probably get away with. He turned on his heel, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Again, thank you." He said, truly meaning the thank you but still pissed, before leaving the hotel room, clenching his jaw but then relieved. It was a hasty, rather rude exit but Raiden would not be insulted. His faerie blood prickled at the insulting thoughts, wanting to go back in and hurt Wil in reperation but he had to clench and unclench his fists. He breathed in the night air, trying to tame his urges to lash out at something. Maybe he could find those hunters again and give 'em another round...but that would probably lead to more deaths.

He walked a block or so away, just enough so that he'd resist the urge to go back and ask for a fight. Raiden sat on the ground, feeling the sudden rain that started, first a couple drops at a time and then it started to progress and get colder and stronger. Raiden didn't mind. His wounds might pay for it but the cold calmed him down and let him get his mind back on track. He wanted to be docile. To be docile. That way he wouldn't have the urge to kill. No killing. No fighting. Just normal. ...never normal...

[WIL CROFT]

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[atrb=valign,bottom][bg=1b1d1b] Wil left the money where Raiden had dropped it, topping up his drink and lighting a fresh cigarette as he headed over to the door and opened it wide. He leaned against the door jamb, watching the fae man stalk away, shirtless and bandaged, into the night. He stayed there, slumped against the wooden door frame, drinking and smoking and watching Raiden stomp away. "Yep," he told the empty air around him, neither knowing nor caring whether Raiden could hear him. He was experiencing some particularly frustrating form of coitus interruptus (did it count as that with a guy?) and had to burn it off somehow. "I sure am a jerk, what with assuming that my private thoughts might remain my own and making a moral decision that it's not nice to coerce a guy into fucking me when I just finished patching him up from a gut wound. Real asshole, I am. Oughta be ashamed of myself." He toasted the dark parking lot and the direction Raiden had gone, swallowed the last of the sweet, peat-smokey whiskey, and then headed back inside, closing and locking the door firmly behind him. On several literal and metaphorical levels.